


Winging it

by TheSlothQueen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bodily Fluids, Huddling For Warmth, Hypothermia, M/M, Omega Castiel, Penetrative Sex, Post-Canon, Wing Kink, dub-con, plenty of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 08:45:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15311793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSlothQueen/pseuds/TheSlothQueen
Summary: Usually a successful hunt did not end up with Dean almost dying of hypothermia. This time, it did.Good thing that Cas and his very warm wings were there to save him. The wings even smelled good… Like, really, really good.





	Winging it

**Author's Note:**

> My first entry for Spn ABO Bingo. Not too happy with this, but you gotta start somewhere, right? Feedback is very much appreciated!
> 
> The dub-con tag is used because neither Dean nor Castiel are in full command of themselves and Dean, especially, does not fully understand what is going on. They both want things to happen, but the way it happens comes as a surprise to both, and consent is not discussed explicitly. I’m happy to give more details, if you’d like to know more!

Usually, a successful hunt made Dean feel accomplished and even satisfied. For a hunter, there was nothing better than a job well done. 

However, this time, everything that could have gone wrong, had gone horribly, terribly wrong. Not for the hunt itself: they had ganked the ghost in record time before anyone had died or suffered a severe injury. Even the ghost had seemed relieved to go.  
But everything else had sucked ass, big time: Sammy had stayed behind, because this was not a three man job and he wanted to spend more time with Jack. This would not have been a problem, but the ghost had thrown both Dean and Cas into a freezing lake. Their phones had been their pockets, and now they had no way of contacting Sam, since Dean had apparently become a lazy idiot and the batteries of all their back-up phones were dead and the chargers were at the bunker.

Castiel’s grace had been low since their last hunt. The fight with the ghost and curing Dean’s twisted ankle had drained the little he had left, so he was not able to dry them. 

Dean had taken out his duffel from the trunk after their last hunt to wash his back-up clothes and, since he obviously had really become a lazy idiot, had forgotten to repack it. So, sopping wet and shivering, they had sought shelter in the warmth of the Impala and started the long drive home.

They made it ten miles out of the town, onto a comfy stretch of road in the middle of frigging nowhere, Kansas, before Impala started to splutter and cough. Dean just managed to steer her to a handy parking area before the car came to a full stop and refused to re-start. Dean stared at the wheel with his brows furrowed and started to shiver harder as the warmth of the car’s heating system died down.

“What happened?” Castiel’s voice was even rougher than usual and he was shivering, too.

“Dunno. It kind of seems like she ran out of gas, but the meter is half full,” Dean said. He looked out of the window into the dark night. The nearby trees swung in the harsh wind and the windows were fogging up. Dean wrapped his arms around himself. He had no desire to go outside to pop the hood. Again, he tried to start the car. Nothing.

“We have not refilled her since Lebanon,” Castiel pointed out. 

Dean thought back to that morning, realized that Cas was right and did a quick mental calculation. Shit.

“Shit. The meter’s shot,” Dean groaned and slammed his fist against the steering wheel. Thinking back, he realized that the signs had been there for a few months now. A tank that was supposed to be half-full had taken in a lot more gas than usual. The meter’s needle had jumped oddly from almost empty to half full a couple of times.

“Son of a bitch, I’m such a fucking idiot.” Dean rubbed his palms over his face. A mixture of shame and guilt made his cheeks heat up. He had been too preoccupied with all sorts of shit, both apocalyptic and personal, to pay any attention to his Baby.

“This is hardly your fault. The town had a gas station. I can walk back there and be here with gas by morning.” Cas’ hand was already on the handle, when Dean finally had a presence of mind to yank it back.

“Dude, the weathercast said that the temperature is going to drop below freezing tonight. You can’t go out there, you’ll freeze to death.” Dead did not understand the truth of his words until he saw the worry on Cas’ face.

Even low on grace, Cas would probably be fine. Maybe. 

But Dean, in his wet clothes, stuck in his rapidly cooling car for the whole night, already shivering and biting his teeth together to keep them from chattering… not so much.

He swallowed. “Shit.”

Cas reached to touch Dean’s forehead before Dean could stop him. A blessed rush of warmth went through him and some of the wetness dispersed, leaving his clothes just damp instead of dripping wet. But Castiel’s face went pale and he seemed to sway on his seat.

Dean reached out a hand to steady him. “You fucking idiot. No more using your grace, capiche?” he said sternly, squeezing Cas’ bicep hard enough to make the angel wince.  
“I capiche,” Cas said. Seconds later, his teeth started to clack together.

*

Forty-five minutes later, Dean could no longer feel his toes and his fingers were getting pretty numb, too. That was not good. Very not good. 

The rest of him was not faring much better either. Shivers wracked his body every other second. His clothes had not gotten any drier and there was frost on the hems of his jeans. Cas was doing a little better: his clothes were almost fully dry. But his grace was not regenerating, as it was all consumed by trying to warm the angel up and dry his clothes.

“Dean, we cannot stay like this. You will die of hypothermia. Your body temperature has already dropped dangerously low and I am worried about your extremities.” Cas reached for Dean again, but Dean swatted his hand away.

Dean tried to ensure that he was fine, just dandy, but the cold must be doing something to his brain. Instead, he blurted out: “Can’t feel my toes.” His voice sounded small and scared even to his own ears.

“Take your shoes off,” Castiel said. Dean didn’t argue. His numb fingers fumbled with the frozen shoelaces but he finally managed to get his shoes and socks off. Cas manhandled him with ease, pulling and twisting so that Dean’s back was against the Impala’s cold door and his legs were on Cas’s lap.

The angel inspected his feet closely and then wrapped his large, warm hands around them. “There is no permanent damage, not yet,” he said. “But there will be before this night is over unless we can come up with a solution.”

The warmth of Cas’ palms against the skin of Dean’s feet felt marvelous, but it was also starting to hurt. The deep, all-consuming ache was different to any pains Dean had experienced before. He did not want to think about how close he was to losing his toes.

“Jesus, it’s too fucking cold to think… Come on, backseat. At least we can huddle for warmth or something without the steering wheel in the way,” Dean mumbled. The suggestion made his face turn red.

“Ah, yes. Sharing body heat. I saw that in a documentary,” Castiel said. 

They did not want to risk opening the doors to the freezing wind, but crawled to the back one by one and sat close to each other, sides pressed together. It did not help much. Dean’s toes were starting to become numb again.

“I think we are supposed to take our clothes off,” Cas said. 

“What?” Dean could not have heard that right.

“Our clothes. They hinder us from sharing our body heat. In the documentary they took off their clothes and used the same sleeping bag.”

“We don’t have a sleeping bag,” Dean pointed out because obviously that was the issue here. Still, Castiel was already slipping off his coat. Dean was starting to shiver even more violently than before, so he decided to stow his crap for once and shrugged out of his canvas jacket. 

“As long as we keep our boxers on,” Dean said feebly in an attempt to maintain at least a shred of his dignity. His dick was about the size of a small shrimp by now.

When they were down to their underwear, Cas wrapped his trench coat around them both and placed his suit jacket on their knees while they sat side by side. His slacks were wrapped around Dean’s feet.

It still didn’t help. Castiel’s clothes were drier than Dean’s own, but still damp and cold. Even though Dean’s right side was warm, pressed against Cas’ warmth, his left side felt even colder. His toes were completely numb again. Even the secret thrill of being practically naked and pressed against Cas did not manage to heat Dean up.

Dean shivered, teeth chattering and all muscles trembling, for what felt like ages. He was exhausted. Keeping his eyes open was a battle he was about to lose.

All of a sudden, Cas pushed aside the cloth surrounding Dean’s feet and touched the skin there. His fingers felt like a burning brand against Dean’s skin and he jerked his foot away. Castiel let out a dissatisfied sound and before Dean even realized what was happening, the angel had pushed him down on his back on the seat. Between one blink and the next, Castiel covered Dean’s body with his own so that they were pressed together from head to toe.

“What the hell, man?” Dean squeaked and tried to push Cas away with hands that felt like noodles. “Get off me!” He tried to make his voice sound gruff and annoyed instead of confused and breathless, but it did not work very well. Cas’ thick thigh pressed between Dean’s own. Dean’s frozen shrimp made a valiant attempt at standing at attention, before giving up because Dean was still freezing.

“I don’t think you fully understand the seriousness of this situation, Dean. Your pulse and breathing have slowed down and your speech is very slurred. These are signs of hypothermia. I will not let you die of such a stupid, simple reason!” 

Dean wanted to argue, but he felt kind of dizzy and his tongue was so heavy. Blackness was creeping into his eyes. He blinked and watched hazily at the concerned blue eyes above him. He blinked again and decided that reopening his eyes was way too much effort.

“Dean? DEAN!”

There was an odd, whooshing sound and the air moved, swirling coldly around them. Dean would have investigated more closely but he was too tired.

*

Decades of hunting life had conditioned Dean to always be conscious of his surroundings the second he woke up. This time, though, consciousness came slow. First, he became aware of the smells of a car: leather, metal and gasoline. These were accompanied by a sweet, almost familiar scent that he could not place. It was fresh and pleasant and Dean inhaled deeper. His mouth watered and his dick gave an unexpected, interested little twitch.

A heavy weight was lying on him, and something even heavier and very, very soft surrounded his entire body. With tired fingers, Dean petted at the silky surface of the blanket.

“Dean? Are you awake?” 

Cas. That was Cas. What the hell was he doing in Dean’s bedroom?

Things came back in bits and pieces. The hunt. The freezing, muddy lake. Impala’s broken gas meter. The all-consuming, numbing coldness. Worry and panic in Cas’ eyes.

Dean fought to open his eyelids. It took a few tries, but finally they slipped open. Cas’ face was the first thing he saw, but then his attention was drawn to the mass of black feathers surrounding them both. His mouth fell open.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, “your wings.”

The feathers ruffled and Cas averted his eyes, which must have been a first. “It was the only way I could keep you warm. Are you warm?” he asked. 

“Yeah, those things are better than electronic blankets. Christ, Cas, they are massive…” Dean watched in wonder at the glossy feathers. Some were fluffier than others and Dean’s fingers itched to touch them. Many were also damaged: bent, twisted at odd angles. Dean wanted to soothe them, set them straight.

“Actually, my wings are on the small side for an angel,” Castiel said. He sounded hesitant, even embarrassed, but Dean was too busy with admiring the iridescent play of colors on the wings to pay his tone any mind.

The wings ruffled again, sending another wave of the sweet scent towards Dean. He inhaled deeply and swallowed down the sudden flood of saliva. He wanted to say something about the delicious smell, but would commenting another dude’s wing scent be some kind of faux pas? 

His dick was definitely about to commit a serious faux pas. Dean grunted and shifted and managed to push his hips aside enough to prevent Cas noticing the growing situation in his pants.

Air outside his warm cocoon of feathers and tan skin was still freezing, so Dean allowed Cas and his wings to blanket him. To distract himself from the enticing smell and the increasingly insistent throbbing of his erection, he started to play with the feathers closest to him. It only occurred to him that perhaps he should have asked for permission, when Cas made a low sound and the wings jerked under Dean’s hands. Still, he did not pull away or tell Dean to stop. Dean grew bolder and started carding his fingers through the silkiness.

Time passed. The wonderful scent grew heavier, deeper, making Dean’s head foggy. His cock pulsed, pushing out pre-cum. “Your wings are really, really nice, Cas,” Dean murmured. His voice was hoarse, tight with arousal. The wings in question shuddered under his hands and Cas shifted against him, pulling back.

“Dean… Dean, we shouldn’t…” Castiel mumbled. The words were cut off by a breathless moan as Dean’s hands brushed over two hard nubs located somewhere around the base of the wings. The feathers around them were sodden and Dean’s fingers became covered with slick, oily substance.

If he had been in full possession of all his mental capacities, Dean might have recoiled in disgust. But now, he only realized that the enticing scent had deepened further. He drew his hand back, watching at the substance in fascination.  
It was clear and slick, felt like super high-quality lube, but it was also warm and smelled so good Dean had to swallow compulsively to keep from drooling.

“What’s this?” Dean mumbled. He wanted to stick his fingers in his mouth.

“That… that is my wing oil. It keeps my feathers in good condition. The… the production increases when my wings are stimulated,” Cas said. His voice wavered and he was shifting again, like he wanted to get up.

Dean did not want that. He pushed his hands into the sodden feathers and started to spread the oil on the wings. He ignored Cas’ strangled sounds and the fervent twitching of his wings. He spread the oil across the long, hard feathers and on the smaller, fluffier downy feathers below them. He dug his fingers in and rubbed the oil and the scent all over Cas’ wings. He wanted to rub that scent all over himself, too. 

They were both panting heavily. Dean swept his fingers over the hard oily nubs again and Cas let out a strangled sob. He wrenched himself away in an attempt to scramble up. Dean could not let him go, could not stand to be apart and, completely out of it, he grabbed Cas’ ass to pull him back on top of Dean.

The back of Cas’ boxers was soaking wet.

This was, finally, disgusting enough to bring Dean back to himself. He jerked his hands away and scrambled back, throwing Cas off him in the process.

“What the hell?” Dean yelled. He brought his hands closer to his face but saw no trace of anything disgusting. They were still shiny and wet with Cas’ wing oil and it was the only scent he could detect. Fighting against the freaky urge to lick his fingers clean, Dean shoved his hands under his thighs. “Did you piss yourself or something, Cas? Why are you all wet?”

Cas was crouching on all fours at the other end of the seat. His face was red and there was a feverish shine to his eyes. He was staring right at Dean’s lap, mouth open and panting. A quick glance downwards confirmed what Dean already knew. He was still rock-hard, pitching a tent, and there was a wet spot the size of his fist on the front of his boxers. He crossed his legs.

“Seriously, what the fuck, dude?” Dean asked in a vain attempt of distracting Castiel. It seemed to work; the angel blushed and the massive black wings shuddered and folded behind his back.

“I’m sorry, Dean. I… I needed to warm you up using any means necessary. It seems that bringing forth my wings in this dimension has manifested some other features of my true form.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Dean asked. The delicious scent was still lingering in the air and his stupid erection just would not go away. Dean crossed his hands and placed them over his lap. Another trickle of pre-cum dribbled down the hard length of his cock.

“I have told you that angels do not have a gender,” Castiel said, looking out of the window, “This was not completely true. We are not male or female or anything in between, but we do have a designation. God gave it to us in case our numbers grew too small, but now that they have, he is not here to activate our breeding cycle.”

“So what, your gender pisses their pants when someone touches their wings?” Dean asked. His mind was whirring. Cas was still not looking at him, giving Dean the opportunity to sneak a few glances at his almost naked body. Flushed chest. Peaked, dusky nipples. Flat, toned stomach. Tented boxer shorts. 

Dean swallowed.

Cas was still not looking at him. “It is not urine. It is slick liquid intended to prepare my passage for penetration. But yes, stimulating my wings helps with the… process.”

Dean could feel his higher brain functions shutting down. “You have a self-lubricating ass? Wait. What? Penetration? You mean you’d be the one to…”

“I would be the one to carry the fledgling, yes,” Cas said calmly. 

Dean had been about to say “get fucked”. Good thing he didn’t get the chance to say the words aloud. Just thinking about them gave him such a vivid mental image that he had to bury his nails into the soft flesh of his thighs to keep from moaning.

“I am an omega. It means I am able to carry fledglings and give birth. This would require me to copulate with an alpha angel. But these designations are fundamentally redundant as god is not here to…” Cas was rambling, but Dean could hardly listen.

“You have a self-lubricating ass,” Dean said again, unable to move past the enticing concept. Cas flushed deeper and his wings fluttered, lowering as if they were shielding said backside. This revealed his flushed and aroused body even more fully to Dean’s hungry gaze. The last few synapses still sending somewhat reasonable messages to his brain (mostly consisting of “what the hell?”) fizzled and died.

“Can I see?” Dean asked. His voice came out low and husky, almost like a growl. His muscles were taut, every sense focused on the angel in front of him. Aggression and desire warred in Dean’s mind. He had never felt like this before, this powerful, determined, hungry.

“What?” 

“Your ass, Cas. Wanna see it,” Dean said patiently. He was already moving forward, reaching for Cas’ boxer shorts, pushing the angel backwards so that it was his turn to lie back on the seat.

Cas let him. Did not lift a finger to stop him. The thought was exhilarating. The mouthwatering scent only grew stronger the closer Dean got to his destination. His patience was waning quickly. With practiced ease, he tore the soaked boxer shorts off Cas, reveling in the angel’s quiet sound of surprise. 

With rough hands, Dean pushed Cas’ muscular thighs apart. He pulled Castiel closer, forcing the angel into a vulnerable position where his dick, balls and ass were revealed to Dean. 

Cas was achingly hard, his erection red and bobbing under Dean’s gaze. His balls were smooth and lovely, drawn tight to his body. But Dean’s attention was drawn lower, to the tight globes of Cas’ ass, glistening with the slick substance, and to his entrance. While Dean watched, the opening fluttered and a trickle of the transparent liquid flowed out. The fresh scent of it hit Dean right in the face and his dick gave a painful throb.

“Holy fucking hell you smell so fucking good,” Dean growled.

“You can smell me?” 

Dean barely registered the amazement in Cas voice. Working on instinct alone, he swiped his fingers through the slick liquid and shoved them in his mouth. The taste exploded on his tongue, better than any pie, better than anything he had ever tasted. Dean groaned at the flavor, and Cas moaned at the action.

Dean’s every muscle was trembling. He barely felt conscious, driven by his need. 

“I gotta have you, Cas. Fuck, please, gotta have you now,” Dean mumbled feverishly. Cas moaned again and his legs fell further apart in clear invitation. Dean wasted no time; he slid his finger through the slick mess and pushed it inside. It went in easily and Dean slipped in another. Cas shuddered and ground his hips against the intrusion.

Cas was wet and warm like a woman, but now woman had ever smelled like this. No woman had even swallowed him down as greedily and hungrily as Cas’ body his fingers. The mere idea that Dean’s cock would be in there soon was almost too much.  
The car was cramped and their position far from ideal. If they had been on a bed, Dean would have buried his face between the angel’s ass cheeks and eaten him out until they were both sobbing with need. But there was no time for that here, no room either.

“Need you now, Cas,” Dean panted, reaching down to get rid of his own boxers. Cas was writhing on the seat, fucking himself on Dean’s fingers and blabbering out a mix of pleas and orders. 

Dean pushed his boxers down to his knees. The sight of himself made him pause: he was bigger than he had ever been, his erection hard enough to hammer nails. He shuffled forward on his knees and slid his heated length through the warm slick substance still dripping out of Cas. He pushed against the fluttering entrance, testing it with a gentle thrust.

He tried to go slow, but the second the swollen head of his cock slipped in, Cas let out a happy howl and the angel’s body sucked him in to the hilt. Dean’s balls slapped wetly against Cas’ ass. He nearly lost it there and then, only holding back by the sheer strength of his will. Cas was tight and wet and pulsing around him. Dean could not have pulled away even if he had wanted to. Cas’ body kept sucking him in, deeper still, even as Dean tried to pull back. 

“Dean, please, please, move, please,” Cas panted. He wrapped his arms around Dean, his large palms cupped Dean’s ass and he started to rock against Dean. Helped by Cas’ guiding hands, Dean was finally able to move.

Shit, it was like heaven and hell combined. Like he was losing himself, willingly. He was so high on pleasure that it almost made him cry, so desperate to hold back that it hurt. 

It had never been like this before. It was like he was made for this, only this.

Dean tried to go harder, slipping in the slick space between Castiel’s legs. Hands grappling for purchase, he pushed his hands behind Cas and buried his fingers deep into the sodden feathers.

Cas wailed, throwing his head back, and arched against Dean. Hot streaks of semen splattered the space between them and Cas tightened like a vice around Dean. Good thing, too, since without the added pressure Dean would have shot his load at the look of rapture on Cas’ face.

Cas trembled and shook under him for a long while, almost silent in his pleasure. His feathers puffed up and the heady scent of him surrounded them. Dean wanted to swim in it.

“Don’t stop, Dean, please don’t stop,” Cas gasped. His cock was still iron hard against Dean’s stomach. He was already pumping his hips again, sliding the hot length of his erection through the wet mess on their stomachs.

“Oh fuck,” Dean whispered. He took a firmer hold of the feathers and started to move again, reveling in the way Cas was shuddering under him and around him. Dean was drowning in pleasure. Never before had it been this all-consuming, exhilarating, terrifying. 

Physically, the sensations were new, too. The wet feathers slipping through his fingers, the scent that numbed his brain, the pulsating suction around his erection… But Dean’s body felt strange, too. Out of control, predatory… base, driven by instinct alone. His dick was like a frigging steel rod, huge and heavy, and there was an odd pressure in the base of it. His vision whited out every time he pushed the spot inside Cas, like his prostate had moved to the base of his dick. It would have worried him if it didn’t feel so fucking good.

Cas threw his head back, baring the long line of his throat. Dean’s eyes zeroed in on it. God, he wanted to bite. He needed to bite. His teeth fucking ached with the need.

He’d never been a biter before.

Cas met his eyes like he heard what Dean was thinking. A shadow of worry crossed Cas’ face, cleared up his lust-darkened eyes. Dean wiped the concern away with a quick roll of his hips, which made Cas groan, tremble and squeeze tighter around him.

“Not gonna last much longer… fuck, never thought you’d be like this,” Dean babbled. He tried to tear his eyes away from the tempting flesh that he wanted to decorate with his teeth marks. 

Impossibly, the thought of that, of Cas’ neck covered in his bites, amped his desire even higher, and suddenly his orgasm was right there, seconds away.

Dean grunted, desperately trying to hold off a few more moments. He pushed his cock into Cas to the hilt and ground his hips in urgent little circles, rubbing that odd spot of pleasure against the hot, tightening walls surrounding him. He buried his hands in Cas’ wings and sought out those two oily nubs. Dean brushed his slick fingers over them, again and again and again.

Cas thrashed against him and cried out, bent his back and bared his neck as he came again, adding to the slickness between them. He pulsed and tightened around Dean, locking him in place, trying to milk him for all he was worth.

But Dean only saw Cas’ bared neck. Helpless to stop himself, he bent forward and clamped his teeth around the thick muscles and sinews, bit deeper and tasted blood.

His orgasm exploded out of him, rushing along his spine, through his belly, his balls, his dick. His vision whited out and he could do nothing but hold on, moaning and groaning, teeth still embedded in the flesh of Cas’ neck, as he emptied himself into the angel’s welcoming heat. It went on forever, he kept coming and coming, pumping out spunk with every strong wave of his orgasm. 

When it ended, Dean slumped forward, exhausted and delirious, and released Cas’ neck.

Then Cas clenched around him, and suddenly Dean was coming again, wrenching out every last drop of liquid from his drained balls, hips pumping helplessly. He was almost sobbing with the pleasure that bordered on painful, overstimulated and overwhelmed.

Finally, it was over. Dean panted, eyes closed, every muscle trembling and weak. His heart raced like he had run for hours.  
Cas shifted and clenched around him again. To his horror, Dean felt his dick give another twitch, felt the heat pooling in his stomach again, felt his balls rising up.

“No, no, fuck, no more, I’m gonna die,” he blurted and shuffled back, pulling his still hard dick out of Cas. It gave a last reality-defying orgasmic twitch, shot out a last watery streak of cum and then, finally, started to soften.

Dean stared at the scene in front of him in disbelief. Castiel was a panting, slick mess of feathers and sweaty, cum-stained skin. His legs were still parted, the puffy, glistening opening was fluttering and clenching under Dean’s shocked gaze. As he stared, semen started to trickle out. Dean’s semen.

It kept trickling out, pooling into a puddle on the Impala’s vulnerable leather seat. More and more came out. It kept coming until the puddle finally reached the edge of the seat and dribbled over, dripping onto the plastic rug on Impala’s floor.

That had all come from Dean. Fuck, he had literally come buckets. What the hell?

“What the hell?” Dean whispered. The quiet sound seemed to wake Cas from his orgasm-induced stupor, and the angel slammed his parted legs shut and scooted back. A whoosh, and his wings were gone. Dean blinked and when he opened his eyes again, Cas was clothed, the leather seat was as immaculate as ever and all traces of the scent that had fried Dean’s brain were gone. He sniffed desperately, trying to find it again.

Cas handed Dean his clothes, now dry and even clean, but he did it without looking at Dean. 

Dean dressed in silence. His fingers were trembling and all his muscles felt like goo. The Impala’s windows had fogged up, the steam so heavy that the rising sun outside barely made any difference. 

Dean pulled the zipper of his jacket shut and leaned his back against the seat, staring at nothing. Castiel had scooted as far away from him as possible, had pressed his side against the door, head hanging low. The sight made Dean’s insides squirm with terror and nausea.

Cas had wanted this, right?

The whole night seemed unreal, like some fever dream. Without the tremble in his muscles and the highly vivid memories of the mind-blowing orgasms, backed up by the emptiness of his balls and the decidedly used feeling of his dick, Dean might have believed he had imagined the whole sordid thing.

Dean cleared his throat. “What the hell happened?” 

“I don’t know,” Castiel said. He finally looked at Dean with his beautiful blue eyes, and Dean was hit with the realization that he had never even fucking kissed the angel.

Cas was wringing his hands, which was an odd sight to see. He was usually so unmoving, so stoic.

“Well, that was nowhere near normal sex, you know that, right?” Dean said.

Cas gave him an irritated look. “I know that. I am not a child, Dean.”

“Obviously,” Dean said with a leer, regretted it immediately and felt his face flushing with heat.

“That should not have been possible. You are not an alpha angel. Only an alpha can trigger my omega instincts.” Castiel said as he fiddled with a coat button.

“So, what, me touching your wings and stuff got you going?” Dean asked. 

“My instincts were very much triggered, yes,” Cas sighed.

A sudden, horrifying thought came to Dean, overshadowing everything else. “We’re not gonna have a baby, are we?” The words came out garbled and high with panic. 

Cas frowned at him. “Of course not. As I keep saying, you are not an alpha and I am not in heat.”

“Oh. Good,” Dean breathed and squished the tiny sliver of disappointment in his gut with determination. Also, he would have preferred Cas to stop talking about alpha angels now, since it made him really frigging pissed off.

They were silent for a long while, Cas frowning at his shoes and Dean stewing in quilt. At last, he could not take it any longer.  
“Cas, I didn’t… did I… I didn’t even ask, did I? Did I… make you? Force you?” 

It was the most difficult thing Dean had ever said out loud. But it was worth it, because Cas scooted over and cradled his cheek, gently turning Dean to face him.

“Dean, no! No! You did no such thing, I wanted it. If anything, I coerced you, although I did not intend to. Or perhaps we were both victims of our instincts. Instincts that you should not even have. I still don’t understand what happened. Did you really smell my scent?”

The relief was enough to make Dean’s tired muscles tremble again. He leaned against Cas’ warm palm. “Yeah, I smelled you. Not anymore. You smelled like pie. Like the best pie. And like good coffee. And sunshine,” he mumbled, closing his eyes.

“You should not have been able to smell me. Only alpha angels…”

Dean drew back and slapped Cas’ hand away. “Yeah, yeah, only alpha angels are supposed to get with you, I get it,” he spat out. Then he paused and blinked in confusion. Jesus, what was wrong with him? 

Cas was watching him worriedly. “Did you notice anything else that was different from your usual sexual encounters? Specifically about your own reactions, your body? Any… aggression, for example?”

This was one of the most humiliating things Dean had lived through. “Dunno, man. I guess it was kinda intense. Like, I was intense, really, uh, determined.” 

He had been fucking crazed with need, that’s what he had been.

“And, uh, the orgasm was weird. Like, I couldn’t stop coming, and there was a lot of stuff. Like, a lot. And I wanted to bite you. I needed to bite you. I don’t usually do… that.” Dean swallowed the need to explain what a considerate and gentle lover he usually was. His eyes travelled over to Cas’ neck, where the bite had been, and his disappointment at seeing the skin unmarred again was both surprising and visceral. 

Castiel had erased his mark, his claim.

Cas’ fingers paused on the spot where the bite had been, deep in thought. “What about your penis?” he asked.

Dean spluttered. “What the hell, man? You can’t just ask… and anyway, you know my penis, it was just inside you.”

Dean blushed again, wishing the Impala would swallow him whole. But this time, Cas blushed with him and they stared at each other, at a loss for words.

“And is it… has it always been that big?” Cas finally asked, not quite meeting his eyes. With sudden clarity, Dean realized that Cas was embarrassed, too. It made everything easier.

“Not really. I mean, I’ve always been more than adequate, but I was really, really hard and eager this time around. And there was spot near the base that felt real sensitive, real good,” Dean said. He cleared his throat and crossed his legs, because the memories were arousing enough for his dick to try and get going again. It was a traitor and an insatiable freak.

“And this didn’t strike you as strange?” Cas asked. 

Later on, Dean would blame his next words on the brain cell-frying orgasms and his uncomfortable arousal. He didn’t really even stop to think, before he opened his mouth.  
“Nah, not really, I just thought it was so good because I was with you. It’s always better with someone you love.”

It took him a few seconds to understand his own words, and even then they didn’t really sink in until he saw Cas’ shocked, wide eyes.

“Oh god,” Dean blurted out, scrambled for the door handle and yanked the door open before escaping into the freezing morning air. He slipped on a patch of ice, fell on his knees with a grunt and tried to find his legs, sliding this way and that like a demented Bambi, before he finally managed to stand. By then, it was too late to flee; Cas had a firm grip of his bicep.

“Dean. Dean! Calm down.”

Dean struggled against the grip, unable to meet Castiel’s eyes. Of all the fucking things he could have said, he had to go there…

“Please calm down, Dean, I love you too,” Castiel said, quiet and firm.

Dean calmed down. They stared at each other with wide eyes.

“Okay. Okay? Good. Yeah,” Dean finally managed to mumble. Distantly, he wondered if this was the moment to kiss Cas.

“I’d even say very good. Fantastic maybe,” Cas said, smiling the little half smile Dean fucking adored. “But Dean, I still don’t understand what is going on. All those things you described, they are alpha features. As a human you should not have any of those characteristics. We really need to get to the bottom of this.”

Dean swallowed an immature joke about bottoms. “We will. We will, we just need to get our asses back to the village and get some gas and…”

Cas was staring at something behind them. Dean turned to look.

There was a larger-than-life signpost about five meters ahead of Impala’s bumper, advertising a gas station about half a mile away.

“Son of a bitch.” 

If they had just bothered to step out of the car last night, they could have been home in their safe, warm beds hours ago. He never would have needed to almost die of hypothermia. He never would have needed to go through the embarrassment and confusion of the past hours.

He would have never seen Cas’ wings. Never known the look on his face when he came.

Never would have heard those three little words.

Castiel was looking at him with concern, the familiar look of guilt all over his face. Dean took his hand.

“Well, let’s get walking, angel.”

For once, Dean had zero regrets.

**Author's Note:**

> Come and say hi on tumblr. I only bite if you ask nicely: [TheSlothQueen](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/theslothqueenofsloth/)


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